


Entertaining Akashi Seijuurou

by ShipThePuppy



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi and Nijimura are antagonistic friends, Host AU, Host!Furihata, M/M, Repost to get all my stuff on one account, boys being stupid, seriously which one is the real host here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShipThePuppy/pseuds/ShipThePuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furihata Kouki is a host at Nijimura's club, and Akashi is his number one customer. What's obvious to some isn't to others, and Kuroko's just about sick of watching goo-goo eyes and secret smiles.</p><p>Or: Furihata tends to overthink things, Akashi proves he isn’t very subtle, and Nijimura just wishes his club had a different name.</p><p>(THIS IS A REPOST TO GET ALL MY STUFF ON THE SAME ACCOUNT. I WILL BE DELETING THE OTHER COPY.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entertaining Akashi Seijuurou

**Author's Note:**

> It's just ridiculousness. That's it. And bad flirting.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> Again, tis a repost from other account to compile it all in one place!

“Furihata-kun?”

Furihata jumped, spinning around from the mirror on the back of the door of his locker. His hand settled over his pounding heart before spotting the source of the voice, and he calmed. “Oh, Kuroko, it’s you.”

Kuroko tilted his head. “What were you doing?”

“Just double checking my hair.” He crooked a finger at his hair. Rather than his casual style, which was bedhead tempered with a quick brushing, he wore his hair slicked back for work. “My shift’s about to start.”

Kuroko’s face was blank, but his tone knowing. “Akashi-san isn’t here yet.”

Furihata's cheeks burned, and he quickly turned away to hide it. “Oh, he isn’t? Not that it matters, I mean, I’m not sure why you felt the need to tell me that.”

Furihata could _feel_ the incredulity from Kuroko against his back.

“Of course,” Kuroko said agreeably. “I’ll see you in the main room.”

Furihata listened to the sound of Kuroko’s steps exiting the room, pointlessly shifting the contents of his locker around to make himself seem busy. A minute after the door closed, and he’d refolded his casual clothes twice, he ceased his useless fidgeting. Sighing, he glanced in the mirror at himself, growing more embarrassed at the sight of his own blush.

He knew he was being ridiculous. As a host in Nijimura-san’s club, he should have known better than to go and get himself attached to one of their clients.

But he couldn’t help himself. Akashi Seijuurou was a special case, after all.

He’d been new when he’d met Akashi. A poor college student, he’d needed to pick up some extra income so that he’d be able to afford living off more than cup ramen and convenient store onigiri. He’d mentioned it off-hand to Kuroko, who was in an English study group with him at the time. To his surprise, the other had recommended him for Nijimura-san’s host club, called Rainbow.

He’d walked into the club nervous and uncertain, sure that there was no way he was attractive enough to be considered a host, and Nijimura had given him a look-over from head to toe, his eyes sharp and assessing. When Furihata had blushed and turned his eyes to the side, Nijimura had nodded and said, “You’ll do.”

Furihata _still_ wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.

Either way, he’d landed the cushy job, working only on Fridays and Saturdays during the club’s busiest night hours. It paid well, and within his first week he’d made friends with several of the other hosts. There was Himuro, a very nice and, Furihata had no problem admitting, beautiful man who’d been assigned to show Furihata the ropes and train him when he’d first started out. He’d been very patient with him, and Furihata was grateful for the courtesy.

There was also Takao. Like Furihata and Kuroko, he was a student, but at another university. Takao was the playful and humorous type, and every bit as charming and mischievous as his smile implied him to be.

Izuki was an enigma to Furihata. He was popular in the club, almost as popular as Himuro and on par with Takao. But the man had a habit of gaining regulars and losing them in an endless cycle. Furihata blamed it on the puns.

Finally, amongst the hosts Furihata had become acquaintances or friends with, there was Aomine. Furihata wasn’t sure how to feel about Aomine. He could see how others would find him attractive; he was tall, tan, muscular, and a regular on his university’s basketball team. But he was cocky as _hell_ , and used the absolute worst lines Furihata had ever heard. It baffled him that his customers were bashful rather than laughing themselves to stitches whenever he used one.

At least there was Kuroko. Kuroko, who’d shown him the place. Kuroko, who went to the same university as him, and who lived blessedly close to Furihata’s own apartment and worked the same shift, so that he never had to go home alone. Of all the hosts, he’d almost say Kuroko was the most normal of the bunch…if the customers even knew he was there. Kuroko appeared to get the fewest customers, but the ones he got always spent the most on drinks and food without seeming to notice they were even doing it. Furihata would have thought it immoral, if ninety percent of the customers to the club didn’t make more money in a month than he hoped to make in a year. The ten percent that didn’t were easy to spot, and all of the hosts were more conscientious to keep them from spending out of their means.

He’d met Akashi after working at the club for only a month, and had just recently begun accepting customers solo without Himuro’s guidance. Akashi Seijuurou, older than Furihata by four years at twenty five and already CEO of his family’s company, was apparently a long-time acquaintance of Nijimura.

When he’d asked Kuroko, he’d informed, “Akashi-san is the one who gave Nijimura-san the loan he needed to open the club when he was starting out. In return for only having to pay back half of it, he gets to stop by whenever he wishes for free. He doesn’t come very often, so Nijimura-san allows it.” At Furihata’s obvious curiosity, he’d added, “Akashi-san likes to try out all the new hosts once. You’ll probably get to meet him.”

And he had. The night Akashi came in, he’d been surprised to turn around after saying goodbyes to a previous customer and find Nijimura behind him with a red-haired man at his side.

“Furihata-kun, this is Akashi Seijuurou.” Nijimura had gestured at the man. “He’ll be your customer for the rest of the night.”

Furihata had nodded, and politely led the other to his area. It wasn’t much compared to the more experienced, senior hosts like Himuro or Aomine. It was partially partitioned off from the main floor by a bar, like all the private areas were, and featured two plush red couches facing one another with a low glass coffee table between. He’d sat, expecting Akashi to take a seat opposite, but had been proven wrong when the other had instead taken the cushion next to him.

Furihata didn’t remember much of that first meeting after that. He’d been too nervous trying not to seem boring in front of someone so amazing (and handsome, he’d noted) and keep his hand from shaking when he’d pored them wine from the bar to recall what all they’d actually talked about. However, he did remember asking one thing.

“Are you, um,” he’d stuttered, afraid he was coming off offensive or insensitive, “gay, Akashi-san?”

Akashi had looked at him over the rim of his glass, devastating with the jacket of his black suit thrown over the arm of the couch and his blood-red tie loosened against the pristine white of his undershirt. (And for some reason the black suspenders attached to his slacks were proving _distracting_ to Furihata.) He’d given a slow smirk, his eyes lidding over a red iris and a gold, and said, “Bisexual, actually.” He’d tilted his head, a few small strands of red hair cutting across his gold eye. “Does that bother you, Furihata-san? Surely your customer experience has not been limited to females.”

Furihata had been quick to shake his head. “No! No, I’ve served male customers before.” Rarely, but that wasn’t important. “And your sexuality doesn’t bother me.” It wasn’t like Furihata had been able to call himself entirely straight either. He and his good friend from highschool Fukuda had experimented a bit, and while Furihata had realized that he certainly hadn’t minded men as much as he’d thought he would, they’d both discovered that those things were best left out of their relationship. They worked better as friends than they ever would have as lovers, they reasoned, and Fukuda had decided that in the end he preferred women, after all. They were still close friends, and met up to play games at least once a week.

After receiving his answer something strange had flit across Akashi’s expression, but was gone as swift as hummingbird wings. The rest of the night had been a blur of drinks, low chuckles that felt like a warm breath along Furihata’s spine, and polite touches that made his stomach flip in ways it probably shouldn’t have.

He’d gone home that night feeling in over his head, but certain that that would be the last time he’d have Akashi as his customer now that the other had gotten to try the newbie.

He’d been wrong.

Akashi had come again the next weekend, and requested Furihata. And again the next week. And the next.

Kuroko assured him that this was unusual for Akashi, who usually came once, maybe twice a month in the past, and usually requested Himuro if there was no new host to try out. Upon hearing this, Furihata had gone to Himuro to make sure the other had no negative feelings about losing Akashi as a regular.

“It’s no problem,” Himuro had reassured kindly. He chuckled. “It’s a bit of a relief, actually.”

“What do you mean?” Furihata asked.

“He’s just very serious,” Himuro explained. “It feels like every word he says is a move on a shogi board. It makes it hard to relax and enjoy myself with him.”

Furihata had nodded then, but privately found the remark confusing. While he did often find himself nervous around Akashi, that was less because he found Akashi intimidating anymore, and more because he was increasingly aware of the older man. In fact, he looked forward to Akashi’s visits. The things they talked about were sometimes nonsensical, sometimes serious, and sometimes somewhere inbetween, but no matter the topic Akashi proved insightful or amusing, and a wonderful listener. There were some who would say Akashi had little to no sense of humor, but Furihata had found that it was just subtle. He preferred his humor drier, less obvious.

“I come here often enough,” Akashi said once, tone completely serious. “I should just buy back the building.”

It took a moment to click, but once Furihata realized that Akashi was actually _joking_ he began to laugh. Akashi had stared at him in vaguely disguised surprise, until the look had been replaced with a pleased satisfaction that made the eternal sharpness of his eyes ease a little bit. Then, he’d laughed with him.

(It was laugh that featured in Furihata’s most embarrassing dreams for a week.)

Now, Furihata stared at himself in the stupid mirror on the back of his locker door and felt like a liar. There he was, with his hair slicked back, wearing an open suit jacket sans tie, and looking nothing like himself. He hated the idea that he was giving Akashi-san the impression that he was something that he wasn’t.

And he hated that he hid behind his job as a host as an excuse to interact with him. If he wasn’t frightened that Akashi would find his normal-self displeasing, Furihata would have plucked up the courage to stutteringly ask him out for coffee by now. (Because while dating a customer was highly discouraged, it was not expressly forbidden so long as the relationship didn’t affect work. Otherwise Nijimura would have put a stop to the _looks_ Takao gave stressed doctor Midorima when he came in on Friday evenings a _long_ time ago.)

Furihata sighed, and scrubbed his cheek with his hand. He closed his eyes for a moment until he was certain he’d regained himself. Closing his locker, he nodded much needed confidence to himself. He had work to do. The least he could do was do it properly.

*****

When Akashi came in that night, it was as Furihata said goodbyes to another guest. The woman had been all shy smiles the entire night, fidgeting a bit and adjusting her glasses or ponytail, pulling the hem of her large sweater. She’d been very nice, and Furihata hoped she might come back again as he’d enjoyed speaking with her.

As she left Akashi approached, flicking his eyes from Furihata’s parting smile to the back of her head as she passed. For a moment Furihata thought he saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“She doesn’t seem the usual type to visit the club,” Akashi commented nonchalantly, reaching up to loosen his tie as he took his usual seat. (It was blood red again today. Furihata was beginning to think they were Akashi’s favorite.)

There was something in the way Akashi spoke that struck Furihata as off. The way Akashi’s eyes cut to him a moment later confirmed it, and while customer confidentiality was a priority in his job, his desire not to let whatever was bothering Akashi hang over the only time Furihata got to spend with him temporarily outweighed his professionalism in a second of selfishness.

“She’s a mangaka,” Furihata confided quietly, leaning forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “She was doing research for her newest series. The main character is a host.”

Whatever had been the root of Akashi’s hidden tension seemed to sooth at the confession. “Interesting.” He appeared genuinely curious, leaning his elbow on the arm of the couch and curling his fingers to hide his lips. “What genre?”

A tiny brush of pink colored the tops of his cheeks as he glanced away in mild embarrassment. “Ah, BL.”

Akashi’s face never twitched, but Furihata had the feeling that he was hiding a smile behind his curled fingers.

Furihata’s expression shifted wryly. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

Furihata reached out as though to move Akashi’s hand from his mouth. “You are!”

But when Furihata’s fingers reached Akashi, the other lashed out and grabbed up Furihata’s hand in a swift movement. He pressed Furihata’s palm to the bottom half of his face, effectively hiding his mouth once more, but this time with the other’s hand as his shield. “I’m not.”

But he was. Until that moment, he’d never wondered what Akashi’s smile would feel like against his skin, and now that he was, he wondered why he hadn’t. Furihata looked Akashi in the eye, and in a moment of clarity all those stupid clichés about eyes glittering like precious gems that he’d always written off as uninspired made sense.

Oh, that was _trouble_. Next thing he knew he’d start associating love songs his friends sang at karaoke with Akashi, and would start wondering how he took his coffee during busy hours, or what his hair looked like in the morning—

“Furihata-san?” Akashi’s head adjusted minutely, and Furihata felt his smile twitch against his palm.

Furihata pulled his hand away. His cheeks flamed as he fisted the material of his pants. “Sorry, I should be more professional. Like Aomine-san.”

They both collectively paused and looked over the partition to watch the ongoing scene in the host area beside Furihata’s, where Aomine entertained a group of three distinguished young ladies.

“Aomine-san, can I pour you a drink?”

“Of course.”

“Aomine-san, what do you like to do on your days off?”

“I like to play basketball. It makes me feel light.”

“Aomine-san, I wish I could go home with you,” the final woman purred.

Aomine tipped up her chin with his forefinger and thumb, and smirked like the devil. “Sorry, but tonight the only one who can go home with me is me.”

She melted. “Aomine-san!”

Furihata jerked around when a hand was placed atop his. Akashi looked at him with a stony expression. “Please don’t.”

The sudden burst of humor brought on by his words made it easier for Furihata to ignore his awareness of the touch. His face became laughter bright. “Okay!”

Akashi watched Furihata in his mirth, and the smile that rose up his lips came open and unbidden.

When his chuckles subsided and he had a chance to notice it, Furihata decided that seeing Akashi smile was like witnessing the crowning of a king. He silently promised himself he would remember it.

They moved on to other subjects. Furihata was used to Akashi asking him questions, though with how boring he was it was a wonder why Akashi bothered. It was as Furihata was serving him a glass of wine that Akashi made the comment.

“I suppose you’ll be meeting the new employee soon.” He accepted the glass and took a sip.

“New employee?” Furihata slanted him a confused look.

Akashi paused in taking another sip. “Shuzo hasn’t told you?”

It took him a moment to figure out that Shuzo was Nijimura-san, as he was unused to hearing his first name. Furihata shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Ah.” Akashi set his glass down. “I suppose you’ll hear soon enough. The new recruit is supposed to start this week, after all.”

“Oh.” New recruit. Furihata felt like someone had put a chain around his lungs. _Akashi-san likes to try out all the new hosts once._ Kuroko’s words ricocheted around his head. He swallowed around the vice in this throat, and attempted to smile. For some reason, he had trouble looking at Akashi. “I guess you’ll be with them next weekend then, huh?” His eyes remained locked on the wine glass on the table as he rubbed the back of his head. “I mean, I guess I’m not surprised. If anything, I’m amazed you’ve been seeing me so much! This new guy’ll probably be much more entertaining anyway—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Furihata jolted at the severity of Akashi’s tone, instinctively looking his way like prey that has noticed the sudden appearance of a predator. Akashi was turned toward him, one leg folded on the couch and an arm over the low back, using it to prop his chin up on his knuckles. As relaxed as he seemed, he shouldn’t have given off the impression of a crouched lion. It was the eyes, Furihata decided. They were half-lidded and unamused, the set of his mouth a careful, practiced flat.

“A-ah,” Furihata stuttered, his heart pounding in his chest because _this was a side of Akashi he’d never seen before,_ and he had the sudden image of this side of Akashi in a completely _different_ , more _private_ situation added to his arsenal of daydreams. (Because as much as he daydreamed about bedhead and heartbeats and candle-light grins, he also daydreamed about silken touches and breathy whispers. And, now, firm grips and nipping teeth with rough, needy murmurs of, _“Kouki, Kouki…”_ )

Furihata took a moment to accept the fact that he was officially a pervert, and that he was possibly the most embarrassed he’d ever been in his life for thinking those things.

He coughed, as if to frighten the images into fleeing, and focused on the situation once more. “K-Kuroko said that you like to try all the new hosts…”

Akashi scanned his face like he might find some terrible secret hidden in it. “That was once true,” he admitted, “but I’ve become quite comfortable with having you as my host. I have no intentions of ‘trying’ the new one.”

Furihata stared at him, and the links of the chain around his lungs hesitantly began dropping off one by one. “Oh.” He clasped his hands between his knees, suddenly uncertain what to do with them. He dipped his head bashfully, the pleased quiver of a smile creasing the corners of his eyes. Light pink dotted the arch of his cheeks. “I’m glad,” he said without realizing.

At witnessing the sweet figure Furihata made, the intensity drained out of Akashi in an instant. Softness took up in the set of his shoulders, and he reached out to brush a loose strand of Furihata’s hair from his eyes, gaze warm. “Me too.”

*****

“Okay, seriously, which one is the host?”

Kuroko blinked, hiding his shock that for once he was the one who had been snuck up on. He turned his attention to his left, where a tall man with dark red hair and eyes was watching the same scene he’d been. “Ah, Kagami-kun, it’s been awhile. Are you here as a guest?”

Kagami scowled, but never looked away from the pair across the room, only partially separated by the low bar that each host area had as a partition. “You know I never come as a guest. Tatsuya gets off in half an hour and we’re supposed to go play basketball. I’m just here to pick him up.” He scoffed when Akashi gave Furihata an intimate look that should have been reserved for bedrooms, and reached out to brush the hair from Furihata’s eyes. “Seriously, I thought _Akashi_ was supposed to be the customer.”

“He is. Furihata-kun just isn’t very…self-aware.”

“He’s laying it on _awfully_ thick.”

“ _Very_ unself-aware.” Kind of like you, he thought with some chagrin. He watched Furihata laugh at something Akashi said, then blush at something else Akashi said in reaction, and felt the kind of frown that only comes from seeing the disgustingly cute cross his face. He opted to turn away, and instead glanced over at Kagami. “You say you’re going to play basketball?”

Kagami had a similar frown on his face, though his was tinged with exasperation at the two. “Yeah, what of it?”

“I get off then as well. Would you mind if I came along?”

Kagami blinked, and finally looked away from the two to give Kuroko his full attention. “Sure!” He smiled.

It was the kind of smile that made Kuroko wish Kagami _would_ drop by as a customer. But he’d take what he could get… _for now_.

“I’ll leave a note with Nijimura-san for Furihata-kun, then.” Furihata would have to walk home alone without him that night.

Kagami nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Kuroko smiled minutely. It sounded good to him, too.

*****

Akashi stayed until the end of Furihata’s shift. They talked about little things after that, mostly Akashi’s work. (Though Furihata had made it a point to ask how Akashi liked his coffee during the busiest hours, and learned it was black with a shot of espresso.)

When it was time for him to get off, he escorted Akashi to the entrance of the club, wanting to maximize the amount of time he’d have with the other. Nijimura sat behind a welcome counter lined with vases of beautiful flowers, and called out to them before Furihata was able to say anything.

“Kuroko already left,” he informed.

“Eh?” Furihata blinked, suddenly pensive. “But we always walk together!”

Nijimura shrugged, and flipped a pen in the air with an air of boredom. “He said he was going to play streetball.”

Furihata stared at him blankly. “But it’s dark out.”

“He was with Kagami and Himuro,” Nijimura said, by way of explanation.

And it was. Furihata nodded, sighing in exasperation. “Those two. I’m surprised Aomine-san didn’t muscle his way in.”

“Yeah, well, he’s working overtime tonight.” Which was another way of saying, “He owes me for something and I’m milking it.” Nijimura smiled brightly.

“I see.” He frowned.

Akashi looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no!” Furihata rushed to reassure. “I’m just used to having Kuroko walk with me.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. “It’s not like I’m afraid, or anything, it’s just…more comfortable.”

Akashi appeared to ruminate on something for a moment. “I could walk you,” he suggested.

“Eh?” Furihata’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! You really don’t have to do that, Akashi-san. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s no inconvenience.”

Over the counter, Nijimura watched them blankly.

“Well…” Furihata could feel himself giving in, his own desire to spend more time with Akashi overpowering the urge not to make a nuisance of himself. “If you’re sure…”

“Furihata-san,” Akashi leaned forward, placing a hand on Furihata’s forearm, “I want to.”

His resolve crumbled. “Okay.”

Akashi’s face gentled. “Go get your things. I’ll wait for you here.”

Furihata nodded, and rushed off.

Left behind, Akashi shot Nijimura a look. “Problem?”

Nijimura flipped his pen again. “Not at all,” he drawled.

****

Furihata was sure he’d never changed out of his uniform so swiftly before. Once he was dressed in his casual clothes—tan capris and a light blue and white striped shirt under a thin brown jacket—he had stuffed his clothes in his messenger bag with a stray textbook and a pack of gum and slung it over his shoulder. He rushed back to Akashi’s side as quickly as possible, and tried not to notice the looks Akashi was giving him, afraid he’d find disappointment in those lovely eyes. He’d left after saying his goodbyes to Nijimura, with Akashi falling naturally in step with him.

For the first half of the trip they were silent barring a few halting directions from Furihata. People walked by every now and then, their chatter and the sound of passing cars a steady beat in the background. Eventually, when they stopped at a light to wait for the crosswalk, Furihata shifted on his feet and addressed his companion.

“Sorry,” Furihata said nervously. “I’m not really used to talking to you outside of work, and I can’t figure out what to say.”

“Why does it have to be any different?” Akashi pointed out. “Say whatever’s comfortable. I don’t mind. I like all of our conversations.”

Furihata looked down to hide his smile. “Okay.”

The light changed, the walk signal flashing to life. They crossed the street, and continued down the sidewalk. Furihata adjusted his grip on his bag, then gestured vaguely at his clothes. “Must be disappointing, huh? I’m not as impressive out of uniform.”

“I hardly expected that you wore formal clothes in your time off,” Akashi said. “Besides,” he smirked lopsidedly, “I think you look quite good.”

Furihata nearly tripped over his own feet. “O-oh.” He coughed to disguise his stutter.

“Can I assume you don’t wear your hair like that normally either?”

Furihata breathed a small laughed. “Not at all! Nijimura-san insisted. He said something about the contrast amusing him.” Furihata still had trouble gauging when the things Nijimura said were compliments, insults, both, or neither. For this, he suspected a bit of everything.

“What does it look like normally?”

Furihata chose his words. “Um…normal? I don’t do much more than brush it so it sort of just hangs out.”

Akashi stared intently at his hair as though he were picturing it. “I’d like to see that.”

There was no hiding his blush. A few minutes later they arrived at the apartment complex, and Furihata hovered nervously outside the building. He rocked on the sides of his feet, drumming his fingers on his strap. “Thanks for coming with me. I’ll, um, see you next weekend?” He couldn’t stop the hopeful lilt to his voice any more than he could have helped breathing.

“Of course.” Akashi leaned in, and kissed Furihata’s cheek like it was the most natural thing he’d ever done. Furihata was left gaping when he pulled back, face flaming and eyes so wide his eyelashes could have made acquaintances with his eyebrows. “Goodnight.”

Furihata watched him smile and turn away, finally finding his words just as Akashi reached the building next door. “G-g-goodnight to you too, Akashi-san!”

He scrambled inside, missing the amused glance Akashi shot over his shoulder. He vibrated nervous excitement the entire way up to his apartment, and the moment the door was closed sunk to the floor and pressed his blushing face to his knees. These feelings for Akashi were getting out of hand. The man was his customer! How was he to know if Akashi hadn’t acted this way with hosts in the past? Or perhaps Akashi had been meeting with some strange, foreign clients recently who thought kissing on the cheek was an appropriate way to bid someone goodbye?

His fingertips whispered a touch over his cheek, where the feeling of Akashi’s lips continued to burn like the most wonderful of brands.

He groaned. Forget out of hand. He’d already surpassed that, and might as well have spilled his feelings in a stained mess all down his front for the world to see.

Furihata got to his feet and set about getting ready for bed, resigned to whatever dreams his mind saw fit to force on him, and already looking forward to seeing him again next weekend.

*****

A week later Akashi entered Rainbow at his usual time, and approached the welcome counter.  
“Shuzo.”

“Seijuurou.” Nijimura had traded in his pen for a squishy stress ball instead. He tossed it in the air, up and down, up and down. “Here to see Furihata-kun again?”

“Yes,” Akashi replied.

Nijimura tossed the ball at Akashi’s forehead. It bounced off, and he caught it.

The restrained annoyance in Akashi’s face was borderline violence. “Was that necessary, Shuzo?”

“Very.” He leaned forward. “You stole my favorite pen in middle school.”

“I had a test, and you didn’t use it for notes, anyway,” Akashi replied immediately.

“You destroyed my favorite basketball.”

“Purely by accident, you understand.”

“You named my host club _Rainbow_.”

“I _could_ have named it Pretty Boy Paradise, but Shintarou assures me that would have been too cruel.”

“He’s right.” Grievances now laid bare like flashing reminders of Akashi’s faults, and of how well he knew the other from years of being vaguely antagonistic friends, Nijimura tossed the ball from palm to palm. “I thought I told you not to play around with my employees.”

“I’m not playing with him,” Akashi rebutted instantly. “I intend to seriously date and someday wed him.”

Nijimura tactfully ignored the end of Akashi’s sentence, sitting back in his chair. “Then do it quickly, the kid’s going to overthink himself into a pit soon at this rate.”

“Of course.” Akashi waved his hand vaguely, and as he made to walk further into the club Nijimura called out to him.

“Oh, and don’t fuck it up.”

Akashi scoffed, and stepped past him. “I wouldn’t dare.”

****

Within three weeks they were dating officially. It meant they spent more time together during the week and Akashi dropped into the club less, as he was usually walking Furihata home and sometimes coming up for dinner afterward instead. Not that that bothered them, or any of the people who’d been watching them dance around each other all that time with the same frustration as someone who’s been watching a toddler try and fail multiple times to insert the square block into the circular hole. Nijimura was just happy to be using the regained time to give Furihata customers that actually paid.

(And two months later, Furihata got to learn what Akashi’s hair looked like in the morning.)


End file.
